


I Guess I'll Have To Change My Plan

by MoraLeeWright



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Oneshot, PostWar, Raunchy Ackertalks, The Big Sleep Inspired, rivamika, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoraLeeWright/pseuds/MoraLeeWright
Summary: Her dress was the color of Assam tea, and Levi almost hadn’t recognized her. Almost. She’d changed, and yet she hadn’t. She was assessing him too, no doubt. The match wasn’t over. “Call me Levi. I think we’re past formalities.”More like starting over. He allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if they were just meeting only now—just a man and a woman, not two soldiers tied together by the stains of blood and duty.And that red dress was quiet becoming on her.





	I Guess I'll Have To Change My Plan

**Author's Note:**

> I was doing a movie marathon with some good friends, and one of the films we watched was "The Big Sleep." Man, I've always loved the chemistry between Bogart and Bacall, but I've got a new appreciation for it because it's _so freakin RivaMika._ Being the trash that I am, I just had to write a oneshot on it. Those of you familiar with the movie will probably recognize which scene I've drawn from here. I also wanted to do a little fic in Levi's pov after the last oneshot I did. Anywho, enjoy some postwar, Big Sleep, RivaMika fluff.

 

Her dress was the color of Assam tea, and Levi almost hadn’t recognized her. Almost. Her hair was longer than he remembered, chin-length, but there was no mistaking its ebony sheen.

She’d changed, and yet she hadn’t; Gone were the 3DMG, the blades, the uniform, but he could see, even from across the room, the faint but permanent indents on her exposed arms left behind by the maneuvering gear straps. He did not doubt that she could still take down a man twice her size with minimal effort. Changed, but still deadly.

That red dress was quiet becoming on her, though.

Most of the people here he remembered from the Survey Corps days—that was the whole point of this little shindig, really. A  _ reunion.  _ He understood it, but found it a tad excessive. At least there was alcohol. Still, he had yet to prepare for the new shipment of Darjeeling set to be delivered to the shop first thing, so  _ socializing  _ wasn’t exactly at the top of his list.

A few drinks, show his face, shake some hands, head home. That was the plan. That had  _ been _ the plan until he saw her, at least. He didn’t know  _ why  _ he crossed the room to speak with her. It was the alcohol, he figured; He never got drunk, and he certainly wasn’t now, but that was the only explanation he could think of for.

No, no, he knew why. It had been that look in her eyes. A look he knew very well. The battle had ended long ago, but inside she still waged war.

She looked slightly bemused by his appearance, most likely entertaining the same train of thought as he had only a moment ago. Men like him tended not to change much, but even he had retired the contrivances of a soldier.

“Mikasa.”

She smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes. Gave him a nod. “Corporal.” Her voice was as he remembered it: Careful, steady. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He shrugged, regarded the room. “Neither did I.” A boisterous laugh sounded from somewhere deep within the crowd. He jerked his chin at the source. “Hange practically groveled.”

Another smile, this one a little more sincere. She asked him a question, he replied and then asked one in turn—small talk, which felt odd because he’d seen this woman covered head to toe in blood, and now she was engaging in polite conversation with him over drinks while wearing a nice dress.

Several drinks, actually. And the dress was  _ very  _ nice.

“So, what does the retired captain of the Survey Corps do when he’s not working at his tea shop?”

They’d forsaken the table for the porch outside, welcoming the cool air after being surrounded by so many warm bodies. He’d loosened his tie, she’d removed her shoes.

“I’m always working. Tea is in popular demand, surprisingly.” He refilled his cup from the bottle of whiskey they’d purloined upon their escape.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to stop by for a cup someday.”

He didn’t really know what to do with that so returned to her question. “I do keep a few horses.”

Mikasa leaned her back against the porch railing, empty glass dangling between her fingers. “That makes sense. You were always good with them.”

He lifted the bottle in offering, and she held out her cup. “They make for good company.”

“No women?”

Levi managed to keep a steady hand as he filled her glass. “Like I said, I'm always working.”

Drink replenished, she took a sip, dark eyes watchful. “Speaking of horses,” she said suddenly, voice blithe, “I like to ride myself.”

“You were always good with them too, if I recall.”

Her right eye glinted like a dark, tourmaline stone in the moonlight, the other hidden beneath the shadow of the porch awning. “I like to know what I’m getting into first. See if I’m dealing with a front-runner or one that comes from behind. I want to know what their hole-card is.” She turned and rested her elbows upon the balustrade, face now fully illumed by the moon’s ethereal glow. She grinned. “What makes them run.”

An old, familiar sensation–one he hardly encountered nowadays–flickered in his blood. “Is that what you’re trying to do here? Find out what makes me run?”

Mikasa made a little humming noise in the back of her throat and traced the rim of her cup with a finger. “I think so.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

She pinned him with that onyx gaze, looking so much like that girl who had offered her heart up to mankind ten years ago. Stoic.  _ Fierce.  _ “You miss it. You have your life now and all it’s accoutrements, though you’d never subscribe to what some might call creature comforts.” Her gaze trailed across his face, down to his hands on the bannister. Back to his face. “But it’s not the same. You don’t like to be rated, but you miss the challenge.”

She was talking directly to that long dormant fire in his veins—dragging it out into the open where it couldn’t hide, giving it a name—and Levi was reminded why he had always favored sparring with her above anyone else.  _ Ruthless. _

“Don’t call the kettle black, now,” he drawled. “You don't like to be rated yourself.”   
She met his parry without missing a beat. “I haven't met anyone yet that could do it. You got any suggestions?”

Oh, but she was right. How he missed a challenge. “You know, in many ways you haven’t changed a damn bit. Still a gloomy brat.” He regarded her, assembled the pieces of the soldier girl and the woman before him into the Mikasa he had yet to learn. “But that was a different life, wasn’t it? We were different people. Had to be. I can't really judge you now till I've seen you over a distance of ground. You've got a touch of class, but…” She was assessing him too, no doubt. The match wasn’t over. “...I wonder how far you can go.”

He could feel the heat of her arm next to his, could smell her perfume. “A lot depends on who's in the saddle. Go ahead, Heichou—“

“Call me Levi. I think we’re past formalities.”

More like starting over. He allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if they were just meeting only now—just a man and a woman, not two soldiers tied together by the stains of blood and duty.

“Levi.” She tested his name, seemed to like it. He found he liked hearing her say it. “I like the way you work. In case you’re wondering, you're doing all right.”

His glass was empty. He lifted the bottle and found it empty too. “You know, there is one thing I can't figure out.”

“What makes me run?”

He nodded and took her finished glass, fingers lingering against her knuckles.

“Here’s a hint,” she continued. “Sugar won't work. It's been tried.”

“I’ve never really cared for sweet things.”

“Something we have in common.”

“I think we have a few.”

Her dress, Assam-red, reminded him of the Darjeeling. He’d stayed out far later than intended but couldn’t find it in himself to regret his change of plans. Levi chose instead to believe that he was seeing her clearly, that he wasn’t misinterpreting the night’s exchange; But it had been a while and he’d never been  _ good  _ at this anyway. Then again, she could always just say no.

“You want that cup of tea?”

“I’d like that, yes.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to rate this at G, but I'm apparently incapable of writing Ackertalk without littering it with innuendos.
> 
> The title comes from a song of the same name which is played in the film. Always loved it, especially Sinatra's version.


End file.
